Paradigm
by LMEevaYlainen
Summary: ...
1. Mischief

**Mischief**

_One cold, dark night a teenage girl was left alone to babysit while her parents went out to watch a movie._

_They had been gone for a few hours and a strange noise came from the bedroom._

_"What was that?" The girl was scared but she was brave and went to check it out._

_She went to the baby's room and there was nothing but then she was leaving and there was a noise again in the closet._

_Being brave still she went to the closet and opened it and saw the ghost of her dead sister!_

_She was killed the same night and still people say her head can be found in the closet._

_REPOST DIS 2 UR FRENDS B4 MIDNIGHT OR U WIL B KILT ON HALLOWEEN _

_I DONT BELIEF DIS BUT IM SCARED LOL LY ALL xx_

"Hm," I was never sure how to respond to those things; I tended to get them from acquaintances along the lines of a mutual friend of a mutual friend of someone I met in the street. Writing rushed, pseudo-angry replies was a waste of time for everyone involved. I'd end up getting irritated and feel dumb after having sent it, the receiver would probably just laugh and show it to their friends. Then I'd be seen as more of a "downer" and dubbed even more antisocial.

It was Devil's Night, Mischief Night... call it what you will, I don't like it. I wasn't necessarily any sort of Scrooge of Halloween, quite the opposite really. I loved buying too much candy under the guise of preparing for Trick or Treaters. I'd often be grabbing handfuls from the bowl for days after. The thing is, where there's smoke there's fire. Where there's Halloween, there's Mischief Night. I don't own a car so I'm safe from car arson and the chance of hitting either of my two four-storey windows with a brick is quite low. All the same, I could never help feeling exposed and uncomfortable in my own home. Mischief Night is seen by some as a time in which the law doesn't exist and therefore ruining anything in sight is easy to get away with. While that's true, it makes me sad that, given a single night's freedom, people will wreak havoc without any sort of regret. Having said that, it's a big city; I'm sure it will cope. Besides, it was raining hard enough to put out a burning car before it could even begin to spread.

A lightning storm had been coming closer by the minute; the time between lightning and the consequent thunder lessening with each strike. Lightning caused problems for me since a sensitivity to light had my head protesting in pain whenever a bright light chanced upon my sight. I'd closed my curtains and now the lightning's mighty power only turned them a lighter shade of blue. The curtains on the further window were distant; hard for me to make out in the space between me and them that spanned four wall-less rooms. I essentially lived in an attic that was previously the four separate attics of a terraced row of houses. I sat on my bed in one corner, my laptop's dimmed back-light barely illuminating my own tired expression. Resigned to my bed and walled in by lightning and hedonists, I felt claustrophobic, not to mention still mildly irritated by the chain mail that sat fizzing in the darkness. An insertion point sat temptingly in a message entitled "Re: OMG U HAV TO READ DIS" and I considered it seriously for a minute or two. The pros and cons of replying were essentially balanced and in the end it came down to my heart or my mind. Torn between the two, I sighed to myself and snapped the laptop shut, swinging my legs across to the side of the bed and sitting up.

Head rush had me swaying on the spot for a second or two while my blood pressure slowly recovered from being hauled around after hours of sitting still. I set off towards the other side of the room-that made up the majority of my rented property-with no real purpose. We all do it, I suppose: walking around in the hope that something will appear for entertainment in the time it takes to reach our destination. We often just reach it and turn back again which turns into an elongated pacing of a room. I reached my window after a distinctly uneventful journey and resisted the temptation to turn back and repeat it, instead waiting for a flash of lightning before pulling back the curtain to stare into the street. I'll admit, I half-exaggerated the Devil's Night stuff. From the way I said it you'd probably imagine a street of flaming wrecks and riots. The street sat empty and bathed in the dull orange light of the fizzing lamp posts that lined the pavement. Nothing but concrete and electricity distorted by the miniature droplets that flecked my window and altered the outside world. The sky, or rather my view of it, was starless and deep blue. I knew that it was in fact black and full of stars. What I saw, however, was a city sky: polluted and hidden from my eyes by the selfsame orange lights that illuminated the ground.

I sat there on my windowsill for a short while, looking inwards and listening to the rain as the occasional flash of lightning lit the walls by my sides. The gentle patter of rain drops on my window was unaccompanied by the wind, but instead a strange scuffling sound that was barely audible below the quiet rain. I listened on for some time before I could say for sure it was coming from inside. It was moving, inside my walls. It would be at its loudest when I imagined it was close and became inaudible for a few seconds after trailing off, only fading back in after a few seconds and becoming louder again. I stood up again, slowly this time to avoid head rush, the noise stopping the moment I did so. Sitting again made the sound audible once more. I assumed it was coming from outside, or was some sort of echo of the rain.

Well, I was suitably entertained after my arduous journey to the unfathomed corners of my own room, and so headed back to my bed. As I passed my door, the scuffling noise became audible again, this time alarmingly close. I turned in its general direction and was greeted by my door, shaking ever so slightly in time with the noise. I wasn't a particularly superstitious person but I'd seen the shows and videos about ghosts and the like. This was typical of them and, though I didn't believe it, possibilities were already racing through my mind. At the time I figured it was best to simply confront those sorts of things head on. The fear of the unknown was the main primal fear of our species. Therefore it made perfect sense to make it known. My steps towards the door were the sort that were conflicted; wanting to move both forwards and backwards at the same time. As a result I made what felt like confident, but were most likely hesitant, steps towards the door. As I neared it, the shaking grew more violent and the noise became louder to the point where I could clearly hear the door's lock banging against its confines in the frame. I reached out, my fingers touching the shaking handle just as the phone rang, throwing my heart into spasms and my body jumping. I hit the door, involuntarily, the shaking stopping, taking the scuffling with it.

I had barely any time to consider the implications of what had happened and the undeniable lack of an explanation in the way it had ended. I'd almost convinced myself it was the wind, which was impossible, unless the wind reacted to my kicking of the door. Like I said, however, I had no time to think about it as I hurried, heart pounding, back to my bed, happy to be reunited again with the outside world rather than my own overactive imagination. I picked up in the middle of a ring, the shrill tone piercing its way through the air and dying out as I answered, shaken but unwilling to show it. "Hello?" I was greeted only by the sound of something rattling. "Hello? Anyone there?" More rattling, followed by a startling crash and an exasperated,

"Damn it!" My phone wasn't expensive enough to warrant a caller ID but I recognized the worn-out, down-on-her-luck voice of my friend Lyrafiltered through a crackly line.

"Lyra, is that you?" I knew it was her but had no idea as to how else I could start a conversation.

"Hang on a second, Eeva." She was definitely exasperated; I suspected her to have knocked over a pile of something, and was now restoring it to its former glory. I waited patiently for some time as I heard nothing but distant rustling and breathing. Eventually, a rattling and the breathing became louder before she spoke to me again. "Okay sorry. How are you?"

"I'm as fine as I'll ever be, how about you? Are you okay?" I laughed a little. She was a very clumsy woman, yet strangely organized. I would have thought the two to be mutually exclusive had I not been friends with living proof to the contrary.

"Just the usual: pervy patrons and poor pay," I wasn't sure if the alliteration was intentional or not, but laughed anyway. She seemed to appreciate my laughing about it regardless-another thing that should be mutually exclusive, this time appreciating someone finding humor within your own oddities.

"Well I was about to go and make some tea if you want to come o-"

"Do you mind if I maybe come over? It's just my day's been pretty crappy." I smiled to myself. Really I'm the sort of person who likes it when people just come out with what they want. Not necessarily in a rude manner, just not dressing up their request in wrapping paper complete with bow. That was beside the point, though, since

Lyracame round every other night and was as comfortable in my house as I was. She was my closest friend, and a pleasure to have round.

"Sure thing... mmm... I'm running a little low on tea to offer that you like. I think I have enough green tea. Oh, and raspberry if you feel like it." Imported tea is as addictive as any sort of drug to me. I'd vowed to try every possible type before I died, and was getting close to finishing a hastily drawn checklist. There was a pause after my question, then:

"The pink one, it makes my mood lighter." I laughed at her description of "the pink one". I was unsure what she meant, knowing for a fact she didn't mean Kashmiri Pink Tea since she didn't even know of its existence. I assumed she meant raspberry and made a mental note to show her more variations that she would most likely despise.

"If you're sure you need your mood lightening, it'll be here waiting for you. I'll see you in a while." We never felt the need to extend phone conversations with small talk. We were far from the "no you hang up" stage but comfortably within the bounds of understanding. We typically saved the talking for when we met in person. Besides, the phone line was particularly crackly that night, most likely thanks to the storm.

"See you soon, bye." And with that I put down the phone, stretching and rubbing my eyes in an effort to fend off encroaching sleepiness. I set about tidying the only area of my room I'd used that day, stripping the duvet of its sheets and waltzing through the door without even thinking about what had happened beforehand. I remember feeling a distinct cold lingering in the air but little more as I hurried down the stairs. As I reached the ground floor, the doorbell rang. I fumbled with the handle, half expecting a very fast arrival of Lyra, but instead being greeted, in pyjamas and carrying a cumbersome duvet cover, by the cast of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

"Trick or treat!" A group of kids I guessed to be about twelve stood in various typical outfits featuring sodden vampires, dripping Frankenstein and saturated witches. They all looked surprised-and wet-though by what I couldn't guess. It was something within my appearance as a pajama-wearing, duvet-carrying twenty two year old who was as tall as and even shorter than some of them. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, I tried my best to smile and reply;

"Hey! You guys look great! But it's not Halloween yet, I wasn't expecting anyone tonight."

"Nuh-uh!" Replied a stunted Frankenstein. "It is, see?" He held out a tacky wristwatch that, to my annoyance, displayed _12:04_ in bright green numbers. I was sure it had only been 9pm a couple of minutes ago. I just figured I'd spent longer staring into space than I'd realized.

"Well, I guess that's fair enough. Wait here a second, I'll be right back." I hurried off into my kitchen that was set apart from the rest of the landlord's rooms, reaching into a cupboard to pull out both a packet of raspberry tea and a bunch of packets of candy. In an effort to drop the duvet, I dropped the tea, cursing under my breath and gracelessly picking it up again. Crouching had me opening a cupboard below the counter to pull out a large plastic bowl, into which I emptied the contents of the candy packets. With the bowl full of various types of sugary disease, I hurried back out into the hall to be greeted by nothing but an empty pathway. The door stood open, rain pouring into my porch as I imagined the kids running away, cackling down the road. My hair was already dripping as I closed the door, walking back into the kitchen and dropping the bowl onto the counter with a "_helvetin_ Mischief Night!" I picked up the blanket and began to rub my hair, being rewarded with nothing but messier hair and an even spread of rain water. Failing that, I drooped the blanket over my head and stood childishly, folding my arms against the world. I'd been fooled by the very thing I was on the lookout for. Thankfully, a far more childish version of the bombs and knives I expected. I felt cheated out of a little immature fun of my own, really. As I stood there with the cover draped down past my feet, I came up with a plan.

The old bell-pull rang just after I'd gotten everything in place. Though I'd repeatedly pointed out the fact that the doorbell was less strenuous, more audible and less pretentious, Lyrastill insisted on using it instead of the doorbell. The chair I'd chosen was the only one in my kitchen that wasn't too uneven to stand on, and this one was barely usable. I leant awkwardly over to the light switch and flicked it off, a consequent lean forwards unlocking the door and leaving it in place. A creak came shortly after as the door opened. It took some time for her to say anything, and I began to think up an excuse, should it be anyone else. Eventually however, to my relief, came a hesitant and whispering voice:

"Eeva?" I shifted myself on the chair, originally thinking to make some sort of cheesy and extended noise, I instead opted for a loud:

"Boo!" I leant back over, almost missing the switch as I flicked it on and pulled the sheet from over my head. I was rewarded by a satisfying yelp that was consequently turned into guilt as she landed on her back with a _thud_ thanks to the as-of-recently slippery floor. Checking the floor first, I hopped down onto a dry patch, and was about to offer an apology as she grinned and folded her arms.

"You are a bad person, scaring me like that. You know how much I hate the dark!" I personally love the dark, for reasons already explained. That didn't mean I could see any better, or had any sort of depression complex. I just couldn't stand light. The childish tone with which Lyra chastised me made me grin.

"And the wet!" I began to re-bundle the cover around me, restoring myself to my former appearance when I opened the door to the "trick or treaters". This time, however, I was distinctly less self-conscious. I grinned down at her sodden hair and pouting expression. "You're like a little cat." To which she rolled her eyes.

"I still do not speak fluent Finnish, shortie, and my dictionary is floating around somewhere under my bed at the moment." That confused me. I wondered what had her talking about her understanding Finnish, and was about to question it when I remembered the tea, and the fact that I had just caused my guest to fall flat on her back in rain water.

I smiled and gestured towards the kitchen, opening the door and leaving it open for Lyra while she went through the ritual of making herself both comfortable and needlessly presentable. The door closed behind her as she complained about her hair through short sighs and grunts while both fruitlessly and irritably trying to straighten and dry it at the same time, with only her hands. I laughed as she took a chair, watching her half-consciously as I began to make the tea. I often wondered why she fussed so much about appearing presentable for me. There I stood with messy, wet hair in old pyjamas and a duvet cover draped from my shoulders to feet like a working class robe.

Tonight had been eventful in some ways and tiring in all of them. Now that Lyrawas here, I was sure that it was going to improve.

Lyra's super-duper considerably more enlightened perspective of awesome (add it to the fanfictiondotnet url):

/s/7114167/1/


	2. Invitation

**Invitation**

Lyra's life thus far was one that had me stumped. For one, she was intelligent. She had read at one of the top universities in the country and graduated, a degree richer and wiser on her departure. She had left university with a great deal of debt covered by an offered, open job. She was fit to start a career and would most likely have ended up successful and comfortably wealthy. All that was dashed when she managed to fall in love. I'm still unsure as to how, or why, she let something like love get in the way of living but she did, as so many others do.

The man, or boy, himself was astoundingly immature. He was a few years younger than Lyra and certainly showed it. Not to say that he was short or particularly childish looking, but instead acted like an idiot with regards to important things in life. Whether it was intentional or not, he had come to fail university and lose his job, all through stupid ploys that gotten him the wrong kind of attention. Too lazy to get another, he was now penniless and single. It may sound enormously selfish of me-and I suppose it is-but all the while they were dating I was secretly hoping they would split up. I'd known it would be messy and emotional but it was for the better. When I got the news that the very thing I'd hoped for had come to fruition, I felt guilty. It's difficult when a friend dates an idiot since you come to wonder whether or not you ought to intervene. I suppose that's the way things are, though.

Take the police for example. If a police officer knows someone shot a man dead and stole his money and has cold, hard evidence that puts his name to it, he will chase him down and arrest him. He may even be brought to killing the man if he turns aggressive. That's on an impersonal level. Should that man be replaced by your friend, the policeman by you, what would you do? A friend of the past two decades does something awful and you ruthlessly chase him down and turn him in, as a result of him killing someone else? I don't think so. I think you would try to find motives and reason with your friend. What about if he killed someone close to you though? For example, your wife or husband? Would that change things? Why? Because it's on a personal level. The person shot dead previously was completely unrelated to you. Now it directly concerns you. Why would you feel it's right to exact revenge on your friend when they kill someone closer to you? What's the difference to everyone else? There is none. To the police, you would both be criminals should you react to it.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that sometimes the lines between right and wrong become blurred, especially for someone like me. Emotions are fickle things that are made from so many moving parts that slide and twist over one another in an effort to click together into a single, solid human being. My emotions run crazy. I suppose you could blame something biological like my genes. Most would just blame me for being unable to control myself. Outbursts like mine are something that people expect me to control or at least suppress. Would that be better in the long run? A bulging, compressed box full of emotional outbursts that will eventually explode from within? No, because then I would no doubt be that person who is being chased for murder.

Lyra understood all about my problem. She understood that aside from having a split personality I was the most mundane of people. Through extensive and prolonged treatment I had managed to overcome the disease, especially with thanks to the woman who now sat across the table from me. She looked at me questioningly as I stared at her and smiled, lost behind my own eyes. A glaze had fallen over me like a doll in plastic packaging, and she sensed that I was mulling something over. "What's up?" My stream of consciousness retracted back into my eyes and I blinked, startled.

"Huh?" I hadn't even noticed that, since I'd made tea for us both, I'd been staring right at her without saying a word. "Oh, nothing," I said as an automatic response. Was anything up? Probably not. With hindsight, I had no problems worth complaining about then. "Why?" She simply reinstated the fact that I hadn't even tried to voice my thoughts. "Sorry, I was miles away." I looked down to my cup that sat on the table between both of my palms, steam drifting effortlessly out from its center. Though I risked lowering the mood, I had to address the elephant that stood in the corner and dominated my thoughts. We were both thinking about it, since it was such a raw topic. I found it hard to purposefully broach such a touchy subject. Controlling it now, however, was better than letting it slip out and bringing down a lighter conversation in the near future. Judging by her expression that betrayed both an eagerness to express her thoughts and a begging of me to not mention it, she knew it was coming. "How are things with Ma-"

"Matt?" She began, the question obviously being intended as in some way rhetorical. The conversation that ensued was filled with Lyra pretending to be talking with me about it; rather, she was convincing herself of everything she said. The only reason I was there was to make it a conversation, rather than some sort of strange monologue. "...I don't need him. I'm better off without him. From now on I can just-" I had been staring intently at the wisps of steam drifting from her untouched tea and so saw her hands tighten about the handle as she stopped mid-sentence. I waited briefly for her to carry on but was greeted only by silence. Making eye contact with her was something I had been attempting to avoid, simply through habit. Figuring she had gotten sick of me appearing to be paying little attention, I looked up to show her I was still listening. It wasn't that. In fact it was nothing to do with our conversation. She was staring, wide-eyed, over my shoulder.

"Just what?" I lifted my hand to wave jokingly in front of her face. "Lyra? Hello?" Without taking her eyes off the wall behind me, she grabbed my hand and held it unceremoniously against the table.

"In the window," she let go of my hand and pointed over my shoulder. "It was in the corner." Certain that she was scared-namely due to her expression and newly adopted skin color-I followed her gaze and looked hesitantly to the window. I saw nothing but shadows of trees outside, dancing in the wind and casting their own shadows on the insides of my window. There was nothing else there: I assumed that she had been startled by mere shadows. In order to make sure, I stood awkwardly in the small space between the table and the counter, stumbling in the process and landing with both hands on the counter. Lyra had fallen completely silent and I too, to my own annoyance, felt a need to be quiet. We both remained silent with bated breath as I boosted myself onto my tiptoes to lean over the sink and peer through the glass.

The glass was dotted with the miniature mirrors that had been falling from the sky since early that previous night. It was by that point early morning; it was unlikely that anyone would be in the streets, let alone my garden. A small path ran down the sides of my house and stretched along the front, spanning the long distance between corners. The kitchen in which we resided made up one such corner, the path running outside of the window between the house and the bushes. I awkwardly opened the window, cool air and the sound of rain flying eagerly into the room and being hungrily gulped up by the close atmosphere that hung so heavily in the room. My breath drifted visibly out before me as I panted, the minor exertion of getting into this position had me tired already. Leaning forwards had my feet lifting from the floor and my top half lying across my sink as I stretched to look both ways along the path, tiring myself out even further. The window I'd chosen was set in the wall just before the turn to the front of my house. Had I chosen another window, I would have perhaps had a chance to avert the panic that followed and instead get away with my nerves intact. I didn't, however, and made the mistake of giving the all clear. Just as I was pulling myself back into the now cool air of the kitchen, an irritating buzz pierced the air and made me jump and bang my head on the protruding window frame. Lyra jumped too, audibly, and I turned to see her especially spooked. I had no time to question her, and instead gestured towards the door. She shook her head, almost pleadingly. Her reaction was more valuable to me than I knew. All the same, I took it in but made no effort to react, and instead walked to the door, expecting Trick or Treaters.

It's a common characteristic of us, as humans, to meet anything other than what we are expecting with disappointment. We could be expecting a solid gold block outside our door. When we open it and see that there are in fact fifty silver blocks of the same size, we will be disappointed. When we think logically, however, after overcoming the initial disappointment, we see that the blocks are actually worth more. I answered the door expecting a golden opportunity to teach those kids a lesson, should it be them. Or otherwise make any opportunists vanish into the night. When I saw an old woman, standing in an odd silver shawl that seemed to act as a mirror; miniature sequins embedded into the material reflecting any light attempting to illuminate her shadowy face. I thought logically and remained decidedly disappointed. As a result of her attire, the old woman seemed to repel light and shroud herself in the darkness hovering about my doorstep. Her appearance was one I would expect to see in a movie, after having had a team of specialists alter lighting conditions until she looked convincingly menacing. Effectively rendered a silhouette, she spoke out against the scattered spattering of rain drops, "Is this your house?" A cynical comment such as 'haven't you ever heard of saying "hello"?' was urged to slip its way through my lips. I typically made a habit of not insulting people-though sometimes that could be considered impossible. There are times I do say something cynical and often come off worse for it.

"Part of it yes, why?" She stepped forward, clearly agitated or impatient, her head beginning to be touched by the light drifting aimlessly from my porch light.

"A simple question demands a simple answer, child." You'll have to forgive me for being so childish but I found it difficult to take someone seriously while they sounded like they were quoting directly from an old movie. I also find it difficult to remember exactly what she said: expect exaggeration and bias.

"Yes," the owner wasn't home for most of the year so I may as well have been the owner. "I'm the owner."

"Good... now tell me, Owner, what do you know of it?"

"All sorts of things." She leant forwards again, a low hiss of air signaling her irritability. She was quite the highly strung woman. "A vague question demands a vague answer."

"Then have you noticed anything... strange?"

"No. What is this about?"

"Nothing strange at all?" I vowed this to be the last question I answered. Most likely due to my answering of it being unintentional and on an impulse.

"Nothing," though curious regarding her motives, or rather what on Earth she wanted, I myself wanted her gone.

"Then you are of no use to me." Taking a step back, she moved further into the shadows, removing any possibility of illumination. At the same time, she looked to my right, outside of the house, and nodded. At this point, had I been wearing shoes and appropriate clothes, I would have leant around the wall to see what she was nodding at. That would most likely have killed me and you would never even be reading this to begin with. Let's just say I'm now thankful that I hadn't leant around and instead saved the cat from curiosity. Around the corner walked a tall, male, muscular figure. It, too, was shrouded in darkness to the point of appearing as a silhouette. Aside from its unnatural height, reaching almost to the door frame, and its strange, bubbling breath that gurgled and rasped its way noisily into the air, it was a certain characteristic that alerted me. Rather, two characteristics. For one, it was hell-bent on getting inside as it strode purposefully up the access ramp to my door. For two, a long, sharp-looking instrument shone in the dim light as the shadow pulled it from his side and let its point drop, singing threateningly, to the ground at his feet. A brief pause as I took in the point to which this surreal situation had escalated, and then clumsily threw myself backwards. I slipped on the carpet and was moved further than I intended, the two visitors tensing at the same point as the freak stood, appearing somewhat confused. "Well! What are you waiting f-" The old hag's command was cut short to me as I slammed the door and awkwardly chained it. As the chain slid into place, the door jolted inwards and launched me backwards with an unsettling force. I used my new-found momentum to step back to the door I had originally come from and opened it.

Lyra stood, her hands on the table and her eyes wide as she stared at me, having barely moved since I'd left the table. "Lyra! Come on, let's go!" I had no idea where to but I certainly insisted we went somewhere. The door's persistent buckling was becoming increasingly pained as Lyra walked, almost trance-like, into the hall. As a last minute thought, I reached around the door frame and pulled out the first knife from a board I kept on the counter. The board fell from around the knife as I picked it up, scattering sharp implements at my feet and causing me to convulse my way out of the kitchen in an effort to avoid them. I didn't bother to close that door, and instead reached around to grab Lyra's hand and run up the stairs. I had originally intended to run to my bedroom, and for all intents and purposes did do. I somehow, however, ended up inside the bathroom, closing the door as the front door to the house gave way.

The freak stood into the light as I closed the door, the mere sight of the thing sending my hand to my mouth to stifle an involuntary whimper. I closed the door and locked it, the image burned onto my retinas: the tall figure being in reality stunted; his legs tied together at the knees by a wire that had nearly cut through the final strand that held thigh to calf. It walked with a truly supernatural gait, almost drifting along the stairs. Its eyes were fixed on me from above a tube that ran all the way from its mouth, between its legs and disappearing behind its back; the eyes themselves being invaded by an encroaching crust of skin that had congealed and formed a new layer of burnt matter atop the charred original. The skin was approaching from all sides, with chewed ears and a neck that lay open to the elements all being invaded by the same green-brown matter. Muffled exclamations of what I imagined were pain came closer as the creature cracked and groaned its way up the stairs. Now I understood why Lyra had appeared so stunned when she saw it in the window: it was something to be afraid of.

I locked the door, firmly, fruitlessly barring it with a stool that I knew would be of no use. I cast about for an exit, standing on top of the sink in order to reach a window set in the wall. A huge crash sounded out from both the door and the sink as the first bent inwards from the force of the creature's ramming. The latter made itself known as the sink fell from the wall and crashed, sending me sprawling on the floor towards the door and the knife flying dangerously from my hand. Lyra looked at me for a second, concerned, before returning her gaze to a wall by my side. I felt a chill from the selfsame spot she was staring so fixedly towards, and so looked.

Set in the wall, surrounded by commonplace bathroom tiles, was a gaping hole in the wall. It was perfectly rounded and surrounded by strange symbols scratched into the walls yet somehow appearing red. Next to the hole, amidst a sea of foreign symbols, were a few legible letters:

_There is a hole here... gone soon. Hurry!_

The middle of the phrase was obscured by a tail of one particularly large character. My brief speculation as to what the full phrase would say was cut even shorter when another ear-splitting crash came from beside me and a hinge flew from the top of the door. Rationality was, from that point on, thrown out of the window as I stood, picking up the knife hurriedly and beckoning to Lyra who surprisingly eagerly climbed into the hole without further prompting-though she had said very little, she clearly wasn't too dumbstruck to act for herself. Another crash and I felt something heavy fly just inches behind my back as I leapt forwards and attempted to clamber into the hole. A repulsively viscous grunt and I was moving faster than ever before, a heavy footfall directly behind me seeing me lunging forwards to the best of my efforts in the cramped space. I hit my head on the roof and turned, dazed, to see that the visitor hadn't attempted to give chase into the tunnel and was instead standing in its mouth, returned to a now-unconvincing human silhouette.

Its gurgling panting followed us all the way through the tunnel for what felt like an eternity, its form unmoving each time I turned to glance back. Eventually it, along with the mouth of the tunnel, faded into the distance and a new mouth opened up before us.

Lyra's (more readable) perspective (add it to the url):

/s/7114167/1/


	3. Trepidation

**Trepidation**

When anyone hears the word "tunnel" I doubt they will ever be expecting anything pleasant. Though at the worst it would be a storm drain or sewer or the like, there are still certainly places I would rather have been. In this case, any other tunnel would have suited me just fine. Suffice to say that, were I claustrophobic, I would not have been able to cope with it. Eventually, through a certain sort of conditioning by banging either my head or my back against the glistening walls, I found the perfect balance roof and floor. It didn't make it go any faster. We trudged on hands and knees for what felt like far longer than it must have taken, the light at the end of the tunnel becoming, if anything, more distant with each shuffle forwards. I fell into a sort of trance, staring at Lyra's feet as they shuffled on while thinking about nothing in particular. I was tuned out, yet focused intently on what was happening around me. I listened for the entire journey, trying to pick out any sign of pursuit. My hands hurt and my feet were complaining; my head was spinning and my heart was pounding, but eventually I came to ignore it and simply adopt a mood of grim determination, knife clutched firmly in my hand.

I was particularly mesmerized by patterns-made by the distant light shining from the pseudo-viscous walls-when Lyra suddenly performed a half turn to face me. It was certainly a feat to behold in the dimensions of the pipe. Her movements would almost have been humorous, had her face not been set in seriousness. She sat in the darkness, eyes reflecting the meager light as she stared distractedly over my shoulder. Something ticked in her head and she looked back to me. "Sorry for all that stuff in your house. I don't think the fog has a good effect on me" she whispered, something catching in her throat and grating the words that scratched their way out.

I glanced behind me, confused and looking for fog of any sort. I took a quick look over her shoulder, too, before returning my gaze to her and shrugging, lost. "What fog?" All I got in return was an equally confused expression of surprise.

"The fog," she stammered, almost seeming to suspect a joke, her incredulous tone of voice reminiscent of one whose stark evidence is being questioned. She glared in my general direction for a second before pursing her lips and shaking her head ever so slightly. "We should keep going." _I couldn't agree more_. I simply nodded and returned my stoic gaze to the walls, too tired by this point to carry on, yet too afraid to do otherwise. Lyra's arms distracted me briefly, a warmth and encouraging comfort gracing my shoulders for a second that I failed to appreciate, given the current circumstances.

We carried on as she had suggested: in relative silence aside from an occasional murmur from Lyra. I suspected them to be the result of wordless exertion, yet never found out as she disappeared from sight moments after I began to speculate. One moment, her dimly lit shadow was as present as ever before me; the next she had vanished and revealed a dim light, almost dazzling in contrast to the tunnel itself. Naturally, I shielded my eyes against the light, only to have the protection of my arm pulled away by Lyra's hand. I fell, a nagging ache making itself known at my temples as the dim light invaded my eyes and the ground came up to meet me. Thankfully I landed on top of a breathless woman who wasted no time in pushing me off, an audible intake of air filling her lungs as I opened my eyes. I shielded my eyes once more, staring at Lyra's pale face through the murky light. She was breathless indeed, an odd look of discomfort contorting her features, eyes scrunched shut until she opened one and looked me in the eye.

A sigh escaped my lips. One day she was going to get herself killed while trying to protect me. I could protect myself to a degree. She worried too much. "Please stop doing that," was all I could muster.

The short coughing fit left her features contorted further, more in pain than discomfort. I hated how she always seemed to use pain as a means to make herself appear stronger. Dealing with pain in a matter-of-fact way is certainly one of the best ways to go about it, yet no one can deal with it alone. It isolated her, I suppose, or rather she isolated herself in the presence of it. It was impossible to help her when she acted like that. "Doing what?"

I shrugged sarcastically: she knew full well what I meant, yet insisted on making it difficult for me. "...maybe making me think that you're going to one day kill yourself in an attempt to save me?" I narrowed my eyes, her response to which being a strange raising of an eyebrow.

"Takes a lot more than a couple of tumbles to kill me, Eeva. I should think you'd know that by now, after all Varas managed to do to me." I hated her for that, too. Though it wasn't intentional, I despised every moment in which I was reminded of my past lack of control over my split personality. How could she mention it like that? My hands clenched and relaxed; I hoped the guilt trip that followed each mentioning of my improving condition wasn't intentional. Surely she wouldn't do that. But then, if she intended no hard feelings, she wouldn't mention it at all.

Varas had hurt Lyra, a lot, and on a number of occasions, regret only creeping in when I eventually came to my own senses. "Lyra..." I hated talking about it, couldn't she see that?

"I know. She isn't you and I was always tougher against her. But she still shared your body, and no matter how much you deny it, some of your mannerisms." Another trait that I disliked, though a rare occurrence. A certain stubbornness without contest had her swipe away any comeback before I even began to think of one. She stood slowly—the conversation effectively ended to my relief—and looked around. I did the same, idly taking Lyra's offered hand as I looked to the floor and spotted the state of my unsuitable pajama bottoms. My spare hand was used as a brush while Lyra still looked around, me rather foolishly caring more about my appearance than our situation.

I was almost finished with the cleaning of my pants when Lyra's hand tightened around mine, something that I had failed to detect alerting her as she bent down and stood back up, sleeved hand wrapped around something that glistened in the dim light. There was nothing but silence. After a prolonged pause, my mouth was caught half-open in the beginnings of a remark as something heavy fell between us and threw us apart. My fingers slipped from hers, Lyra hitting the ground with a resounding thud before me. I landed and hit my head on something solid jutting out of the ground, my vision becoming unbearably bright for a second before fading to a resounding black.

The black gave way to a strange orb of white that grew until it filled my vision, more black in the shape of a silhouette filling its center. The silhouette appeared strangely human. I struggled to focus on a certain part of the picture, as anyone does when staring at the backs of their eyelids. A low hum filled my ears, accompanied by the sounds of scuffling, Lyra's fast breathing as the sound of footfalls skittered towards me. My eyes danced about beneath my eyelids as colors danced around the white orb, the strange silhouette falling apart into constituent blobs of color. _Weapons ... defend yourselves. _It seemed just like a thought process, yet felt different somehow. It was my inner voice, yet somehow different to its normal inflection. I thought nothing beyond that at the time, simply agreeing with my own idea as the white orb expanded to fill my darkened vision.

The white gave way to gray which in turn gave way to Lyra's face, lined with worry. Her eyes lit up and checked me over quickly as my own flickered open. Sitting up was filled with discomfort, yet seeing the slightly crazed expression on her face washed away any self-pity. Her cheek was grazed, her entire right side's clothes grazed and worn considerably more than the other's. Her right side was otherwise unscathed, or so I thought as my chest fluttered upon seeing blood dripping lazily from a deep cut in her hand. "Are you okay?" She said, the question being almost immediately swiped away by my concern for her hand. I glanced around for any sort of first aid and, finding none, looked instead for weapons as the thought reoccurred to me.

"I think we'd better find some better weapons. And some bandages for your hand." Lyra glanced vacantly to her hand, not seeming to register its alarming state.

"What?" I carefully took a hold of her wrist and held up her limp hand in front of her face, blood dripping down her palm and collecting against my fingers. "...I have no idea..."

"The glass," I said sternly, making my disapproval of her foolish choice of weapon known. She glanced down to the floor, my gaze following hers to see a small fragment of glass sitting nonchalantly in a small puddle of blood. I didn't even know what the blood belonged to. "What di-" Lyra thrust out a hand, seemingly oblivious to my impending question as she helped me to my feet and lay her weary head on my shoulder. I sighed, hardly providing a steady shoulder to lean on as I swayed haphazardly on the spot. I didn't know the part of town we were in, but clearly I wasn't going to become taken to it either.

I wanted someone of a higher authority to talk to ... or at least my home back.


	4. Inauguration

**Inauguration **

We had left the tunnel behind us, on our way to Destination Unknown.

Lyra was limping, to a strange point where I was almost certain that she was putting it on. She was making a show of grunting and sighing every other step. It went on for some time, as we walked through the strangely foggy haze that covered the street, until a junction in both the road and my patience. In the same moment, I sped up to cut her off, standing in front of her with an expression of what I hoped to be annoyance. Lyra's face both lit up and fell as surprise and then recognition flashed across her face.

"I'm going to carry you off this road myself, or you can come willingly" I said, half-joking and half-serious.

"I'd like to see you try, Shortie," she smiled and felt it necessary to pat the top of my head. I leant towards her, trying my best to convey a sort of pleading but, I would imagine, only managed to bug out my eyes slightly.

"Lyra, please..." she frowned, not sure what I was getting at. "You can't carry on like this, I won't let you."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine-"

"You always are, I know" her mouth closed abruptly, sentence cut short. "Now please let's rest somewhere ... it's getting dark." It really was getting dark. Though the fog was nothing but obstructive, it did carry the general color of the sky all the way through it. The usually pale, white haze had now turned a distinct orange color. The color was amplified; stretched and spread throughout the smothering fog, turning everything in sight to the same sunset hue. The orange buildings either side of us were both dilapidated, in keeping with the rest of the town as we had seen so far. It was strange, since I didn't remember seeing anything of the sort in the town where I lived. I was beginning to wonder-with the impossibly long tunnel in the side of my bathroom as well as the reason we entered it in the first place-whether we were in the same town at all.

"What are you worrying about? We just need to get out of this part of town, then take a bus back to yours." I glanced around, seeing nothing but obscured buildings fading out of view in every direction, even upwards. Patterns swirled in the fog that distracted me, preventing me from ever being able to concentrate and discern anything of interest. I looked down at my own ridiculous outfit, already accustomed to the wind that, against all preconceptions, felt almost warm. Even if Lyra refused, I certainly wanted to find a place to stay. If we stayed at a B&B or something for the night, we could easily find our way home once the fog passed.

"We could run into someone at this time of night" Lyra took a look around, eyes returning to me while looking slightly more tense. "Besides," I gestured down at myself. "I'm not getting onto a bus dressed like this." Despite everything that had happened, Lyra giggled and gently touched my shoulder through the thin material of my shirt.

"Okay you're right" she paused and sighed, hands on her hips while she took another futile look around. "Where to then Miss Initiative?" I took a look around for myself, eyes catching a dimmed light that suddenly burst into life not too far down the road. It flickered out, only to come back to life again with twice the brightness. I said nothing and simply pointed towards the light, acting like a moth drawn to flame as I set off towards it. It appeared to be a blurred rectangle with rounded edges, the lights gradually become legible as letters as we came closer. We eventually found ourselves near enough directly below the sign. We would have been closer, had there not been sparks showering gratuitously from the bottom where the word had been cut off and instead there hung a tangle of exposed. "_HOTEL ALI-_" were the only letters still present. We could clearly make out that it was a hotel, despite the remaining characters barely clinging onto life as they flickered out of time with one another.

The front door proved an easy entrance into a dimly lit hallway, closing behind us as we stepped into the thick air. A cracked staircase leading up to an obstructed second floor, an empty reception booth sitting miserably in the corner with its light flickering gently through the dirtied glass. A range of furniture, paintings and paper lay strewn across the faded carpet that stretched into the unknown darkness towards the end of the corridor. We both took a look around and shuddered in unison.

"We shouldn't stay here" I offered, turning to the door to see Lyra already in the process of opening it. I kept walking, almost headlong into the door when her arms proved unable to move it on its rusted hinges. I offered a hand, then two, then a foot as well. Needless to say, the door wouldn't open. We tried pushing, pulling, bashing and even complimenting the door to no avail; it stayed locked. "How can it be locked?" I had searched up and down for a latch of any sort, and found one.

"How am I supposed to know?" snapped an exasperated Lyra. I sighed, taken aback, and hugged myself for warmth. Another look around revealed nothing but what I had already noticed, the first floor now beginning to draw my eye as I failed to find a back door. Lyra started shaking the door handle again, muttering choice words at its eroded wood as I opted to take a look upstairs. I struggled to climb over discarded tables and chairs that blocked the 'T' section of the staircase, eventually clambering onto the safer stairs and reaching the top. I called down to Lyra, telling her to follow me, and was rewarded with what I at least thought was an acknowledgment. The hallway I found myself in was identical to the one downstairs, so much so that I felt as if I had climbed the stairs and somehow come back down the same side. The same furniture littered the floor, the same tears in the wallpaper matching the same broken lights hanging from the roof. The walls were of the same dark green and red pattern, stretching along the wall to- There was a room, or rather a door frame, that caught my attention. It was white, bright and immaculate, containing no door but an open entrance to a room I certainly recognized.

_This is..._

I pulled myself around the door frame, taking in the room around me at a loss for words. It was the same, _exactly_ the same. The bar was the same, the couches and even the coasters were identical. My eye, of course, drew itself over to the window, the same window I had thrown Lyra through in a fit of rage. I remembered very little of it, only the time in hospital with her afterwards, feeling my own guilt heavier than she felt her own casts. Suddenly I found myself in the center of the room, having looked around in a trance, re-tracing the steps I had taken when I sent Lyra hurtling towards the ground. I shuddered, my own awkward breathing now deafening against the absolute silence that filled the room. The air was clear in here; clear but hard to breathe. It reminded me of the freshness of the air high up a mountain-fresh but lacking in oxygen. My eyes closed as I let out a long, shuddering sigh, finding it nearly impossible to clear my mind of the guilt that came falling back on me. She had said it was okay, but we both knew that she didn't mean it completely. She had forgiven me on purpose, but had never really forgotten what I did, never really-

"How does it feel?" I span around, almost slipping out of shock as I leant on the black couch for support. Lyra stood in the doorway, swaying strangely on the spot with her head tilted to what looked like an uncomfortable angle. I frowned, forcing a hesitant laugh and stepping towards her.

"How does what feel?" I was utterly confused, though now it seems obvious. She had scared me, I suppose.

She took strange, awkward steps towards me, almost standing toe-to-toe with me as I backed against the wall, looking up at her with a smile still on my face. You have to understand I really had no idea what she meant. "How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"How does it feel?" And suddenly I was in the air, any and all responses taken away from me as Lyra, along with the room and a thousand glittering shards of glass, shot out before me. I felt a hot patch where her hands-the same she now stared at incredulously, as if having only now seen what she had done-had pushed me through the window. Everything froze in place for a moment as gravity caught and wrapped its unseen fingers around me, pulling me down faster and faster as its work became easier. I fell right into its grasp, hitting the floor in a moment where I stayed awake for a fraction of a second, in the same moment feeling enough pain to last me a life time.

Then, thankfully, the bloodied tarmac faded to a darker black, a blackness of nothing, before falling out from under me completely, dropping me into the confines of my own shattered head.


	5. Hallucination

**Hallucination**

I awoke to a bright light, pain almost instantly aching itself into existence in the back of my head. I half-closed my eyes, the pain slowly dying down and leaving behind tiny pinpricks of a different, stinging pain along my arms. Sitting up proved easier than I imagined, letting me safely open my eyes as well as gain my bearings. I was on something that looked like a dentist's chair, or maybe an angled operating table covered in see-through plastic. The first thing I noticed, aside from pain and light, was that I was considerably warmer than my previously drafty outfit had permitted me. I found, to my surprise, that I was wearing some of my own clothes from home. I noticed the familiar green hoodie and my torn jeans, the same heeled boots that I wore not two days ago. To be perfectly honest, I surmised that I had died. How else would I awake, after a fatal fall, and find myself alone, wearing my own clothes? I had even at first thought that the bright white light was in fact _the_ bright white light. I was wrong, of course, yet at the time simply went about licking my own wounds. The pain in my arms, as I soon found out, was being caused by the needles found on the end of drips, only seeming to be lacking the tubes that would have connected me to medication as well as missing any and all veins completely. Pulling out the embedded slithers of metal was painful, while on the other hand getting them out, coupled with moving away from the light, helped me to recover considerably.

The floor consisted of brown tiles, cracked and lifted to reveal the grimy stone beneath. Every wall had a stain of some sort covering it in its entirety while the floor and roof became progressively tidier until the middle of the room, where a spotless set of equipment resided next to the chair I woke up on. Along two walls there were counters, each home to a sink as well as various discarded papers, among which were bottles that lay discarded beneath the broken cupboards they used to call home. All things considered, it was a wreck: if it was supposed to be a hospital, it would have caused more injuries and illnesses than it could ever cure.

The state of the rest of the building was no better either. I wandered rather hurriedly through what I would guess to be the majority of the floor, finding nothing of any value but more rooms similar the former. I did note that in each room, however, that their centers where the chairs lay were in check with the rest-they were dilapidated and neglected throughout. I didn't even stop to ponder the significance of the fact, only noted it and moved on. I soon came to an open elevator whose open doors displayed an upturned wheelchair amidst various scattered medical equipment. Having taken leave of my senses, I deemed it necessary to actually use the elevator; I was dead and as such didn't need to worry about a thing.

I should have been worried at the first step into the gently humming box. The very first hint of weight sent a deep, groaning complaint through the metal. I wasn't phased, or simply wasn't paying attention. The next step brought about no noise whatsoever, my next warning coming when I went to press the 'G' button. The doors, registering my request, sputtered into life before moving an inch and dying, sliding back to their original positions and falling back into silence. I pressed it again, nothing this time. Pressing the button that I presumed closed the doors simply provided me with a more exaggerated show of their desire to remain stationary. I made a short noise under my breath in the same moment that I kicked the wall of the elevator, making to step out. It was in that moment that the entire broken box lurched downwards, the floor outside shooting up to my waist as it did so. Then there came another metallic groan, much louder this time and accompanied by the distant sound of something giving way. There was a muffled whistling sound that became gradually louder and louder, reaching its crescendo when a huge gash was ripped across both the roof and the floor straight down the middle of the box. The resulting creaking and teetering of the elevator was accompanied by my frantic scrabbling at the exit. The floor had now become a ledge that had risen to about my head height and had yet to stop climbing. I conjured what strength I could, arms complaining in unison as I struggled to squeeze my way through the remaining gap between floor and roof. I got my upper body through as the elevator fell again, stopping as I felt the roof touch the heels of my boots, the feet they held frantically kicking against the floor. My toes passed out of the box just as its top disappeared from sight, sighing away down the shaft and pulling a detached metal cable along with it, fizzing in its wake.

There was an extended pause followed by a distant crash, something that reminded me of an old cartoon, where an unfortunate individual finds themselves slamming into the ground in a puff of smoke. Only this was far less comical and a great degree more ear-shattering as the sound reverberated up the metal walls of the shaft. The metallic sound slowly transformed into a more regular and slightly softer one as the echo died out. This sound was closer, far closer, and on the same floor as I was. I turned towards the sound as I heard it, a door to one side of the corridor flying open and off its hinges as something stepped out of its four walls. I couldn't see what it was, in fact I could barely see anything in the dim light offered by the windows. Each light was broken, leaving me with only a hunched, arm-less silhouette as a clue. Whoever it was made strange, muffled sounds of what sounded like pain. The pain turned into strain which then turned into relief as I heard the tearing of fabric, followed by a metallic clink when two long, thin instruments were added to the silhouette. I figured that they were long knives, or something of the sort. I didn't need more encouragement-though it was offered in the form of an ear-piercing screech from the patient-and set off in the opposite direction.

Heels clacked against the stairs as I hurried down, pivoting around the curve in the handrail and sending myself catapulting down the next flight. I heard no signs of pursuit, though I ran anyway, finding myself bursting into an empty waiting room that flickered into light as I entered. Dim lights buzzed into existence, some popping back out again as I looked around, feeling I'd crossed some invisible boundary in my entrance. I slammed the door shut behind me, nothing sounding out of the ordinary as I crunched my way across the broken glass that gratuitously littered the ground. The faded and stained carpet was covered in tiny hints of light reflecting from sharpened glass, the occasional discarded needle or innards of an eviscerated armchair being the only other things to dirty the floor. A strange light faded in through the windows: it wasn't quite daylight, but didn't resemble moonlight either... more like something in between, the color of either sunrise or sunset eluding my eyes. I stepped out through a revolving door, straining to spin it on its broken limb and eventually, after one last push and a screech of grating metal, I was out into the light.

I walked for quite some time, aimlessly wandering the pavement in an effort to find any semblance of life. Of course, I particularly wanted to find Lyra, though at that particular point in time I would simply have settled for some company. My voice was beginning to fade after having spent itself on the repetition of "Lyra?" and finding its efforts wasted as the sound was simply chewed up by the air. It wasn't really that long, however, before I came upon a form in the mist. She, or rather her silhouette, wore the same clothes as she had been before we were 'split up'. She seemed perfectly fine, and so I risked another mention of her name. "Lyra?" She seemed to jump slightly, upturned head showing her as listening to another sound at the same time as heading off in the opposite direction. I blinked, confused, and followed her, saying her name again and being greeted with a shouted "Eeva?" She hovered on the edge of my vision, almost entirely obscured by the fog when she seemed to stop, and shout,

"Eeva? Eeva, is that you? Please..."

She reached forwards to something, jumping back almost instantly and sprinting off into the fog once more. A sigh escaped my lips as I, yet again, set off after her. It was only as I reached her that I saw the position she had adopted; feet evenly set apart with her hands clenched at her sides while her eyes stared straight ahead, right at me. She turned up her nose and shifted her weight, apparently ready to run at me. "Come on then. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!"


	6. Misdirection

**Misdirection**

I wasn't all that surprised when the apparition of my friend fell apart into wisps of fog and dissipated around my ears. I was almost beginning to get used to the sort of happenings around here. Something had changed inside of me during my unconsciousness in the hospital. It wasn't that I was any less scared, or any more courageous-I simply felt like I knew something was going on, something more than what I had first thought was happening. When I came to think of it, I had no idea how I had managed to cast off our supernatural assailant that broke into my own home. How had I ever dismissed that as a simple burglary or some sort of mundane assault? I figured it was the moment when Lyra, someone I would trust with my life and beyond, decided she wanted me dead. The way her eyes lit up when she saw me falling, the way she almost couldn't believe it herself. It wasn't her. At least, I knew that it wasn't of her own free will. I didn't believe in hypnosis and was never caught up in possession, so at the time I could honestly say I was stumped. I simply knew that it wasn't her, and something had led her to act like that. That was why, when I saw her about to attack me yet again, I knew that it wasn't her. I didn't necessarily expect the monochrome light show, but knew that no intentional harm would be dealt to me.

I had been half-expecting harm of some sort, and so was surprised by the lack of it alone. There was no sensation to be felt either: Lyra simply fell apart into nothingness right before my eyes. I was relieved-genuinely relieved-to see her face crack and melt into the fog, myself unscathed. But then it struck me that I was still in the same situation. It was worse to know that the mind game I had just been subject to could even exist. Even worse was the fact that I was still alone, still looking for Lyra and still at a loss for what to do. On top of that, something was toying with me. I couldn't possibly have survived the fall; my memories showed me my own vision fading to black as I died on the road. It was an experience that I would know for the rest of my life. I had actually died and... lived to tell the tale. But then how was I alive? It made no sense, in fact nothing that had happened ever since the knock at my door had made sense. It was all completely nonsensical, ridiculous and thoroughly terrifying. I suppose that was a way of describing my thoughts at the time: nonsensical, ridiculous and thoroughly terrifying.

It took me a while to begin walking again. I stood there, contemplating my situation, before turning on the spot in an almost rehearsed fashion and setting off back the way I came. I'm not sure what guided me to take the first step in that direction. I had no real purpose, and any compass direction would have been indistinguishable from the other since my vision consisted entirely of pavement for the following ten minutes or so. When I chanced to look up, I saw the hospital I had escaped from standing tall over the rest of the block. Something moved in the corner of my eye, a window becoming lighter than it had been previously. Moments after, the next window in line grew dark for a brief second before returning to its original dim light. The shadow moved down the line of windows: somebody was running along the hallway. The somebody disappeared around a a corner in the windows and came towards me, though held up three storeys my superior. Soon, they were obscured from my view as the evenly spaced windows fell into a jumble of panes. My perspective obscured them from view, not that I cared. I felt somewhat detached, like my attention should be directed elsewhere. It felt quite like I had been given something to focus on and saw little point in very much else. At the time I figured it to be my self-given duty to find Lyra, though I was sure she was trying to do the same for me.

My eyes fell, from their resting place in the hospital's windows, to the alley that lay beside it. I would dare say yet again that I was directed to look there. I hadn't even noticed the fact that I had been walking for what was certainly several minutes, if not more, though ended up only half a street away. It's not particularly crazy to presume that I had been walking around in circles, given my mental state at the time. I was highly susceptible to most things both real and imagined. Despite the usual weakness of limbs that I was accustomed to, I felt exposed out in the empty street like that. Nothing could see me, and I could see nothing, yet I felt like that could change at any moment. I was overreacting, naturally, but resigned myself to the alley in the hope of some place to go. I wanted out of the open street, but never thought at the time that being trapped like that would be so much worse.

The alley was darker than I had imagined. I was by now used to the same ghostly haze that had fallen over everything, objects closest to me appearing somehow darker while the white haze that took over the distance was of the brightest white. About halfway into the alley, there lay a black metal fire escape whose entrance was blocked by a few planks of wood. They, like the rest of the fire escape, held no real purpose since only a few stairs lay on the ground. A great chunk of the middle section had been torn away, nowhere to be seen and only remembered by its imprint on the wall. Tattered stairs lay hanging from the upper section which when carried on uselessly to the pyramidal roof. I ran my hand along the railing as I passed by, staring into the fog that so thoroughly swallowed up the buildings. Even on the ground floor, I could barely distinguish their neglected details, finding it impossible as they reached into the sky and were slowly turned into nothing but dark obelisks in the haze.

I turned a corner in the alley, dropping down a few stairs before climbing up the other side and finding myself thoroughly boxed in by the tall buildings that hemmed me in. Steam billowed, paradoxically enough, from a building that I knew was empty. It hissed out, condensing on the metal it sprang from as it hit the cool air, select clouds escaping and joining the fog as they dissipated into nothing. I passed by and felt my hair lift under the clammy flow. A smell drifted into my nose, one reminiscent of a respectable restaurant. It smelt of food, made promises of nourishment and a comfortable place to sit down, surrounded by people. I would have probably taken the time to be envious of it, though was instead occupied by wondering how it could possibly smell so. It appeared dilapidated, the vent barely even connected to the wall, shaft laying open at almost head height. My instincts told me that the building within was just as run-down as anything I had seen thus far. It was most likely a restaurant, though chairs would be strewn everywhere, the kitchen dirtier than sin as a result of spending years unoccupied. The hospital had felt the same, just as the hotel earlier had. I assumed that the smell was caused by mere association by nostalgia, though I couldn't be too sure. In light of recent events, I have no idea why I was even attempting to rationalise what was happening, perhaps I hadn't yet resolved that what was happening was indeed the stuff of fiction.

I'd passed the vent by the time I had finished that train of thought. In fact I was around another corner away from the street, having walked so far in that direction that I ought to have emerged out into the road on the other side. I hadn't, though I put no thought into it as I emerged into a small clearing in the path. The alley opened up into a small square that wasn't far from a courtyard, though held no purpose and no freedom of one. One small step had me descending minutely into the opening that seemed to contain nothing but trash. Black bags lay piled in human-sized piles, swarming defenseless green dumpsters that were already filled to the brim with the same bags. Fire escapes and overhead cables made the view when looking up somewhat confusing. Though I could still see the white beyond, the couple of high-rise apartments either side of me offered very little white space through all their connections. Stairs, open windows, pipes, wires and even sky bridges obscured the sky so much that I began to feel like a sapling in the underbrush of a forest. I'd wished the sky would turn blue again, or at least offer something other than the bright whiteness that it had now returned to, but now I felt myself wishing that I could at least see that again. I felt distinctly more claustrophobic in the alley: my original relief to be out of the open had faded.

I hurried through the little square, coming eventually to a faded metal door that lay ajar at the opposite end. I looked up and saw that it belonged to one of the high-rise apartments I'd seen before. My first thought was that there could be a way into the street on the opposite side, and so I decided to go in. I looked for a handle on the door, and found none. I tried to push it, and found no way of moving it. A sigh escaped my lips as I stood back, giving the door a quick once over and only now seeing a piece of wood that was wedged in between a hinge and the door itself. Minimal effort was required to pull it out after I'd closed the door. I had access, though I was occupied by looking at the wedge itself. Black lettering had been burned into both sides of it. My heart skipped an ever so slight beat as I saw the word "Lyra" scorched in an oddly calligraphic shape. The letters were smudged while the other side's, which unsurprisingly read "Eeva" in the same handwriting, remained pristine. As I read the letters of my own name, they began to smudge themselves. My fingers were wrapped firmly around the thicker edge of the wedge, only touching the sides of the wood and leaving both burnt faces untouched. It had smudged itself, which meant the reason that Lyra's side was the same was that she had read it. I jumped to the conclusion, barely even thinking as I cast aside the wedge and swung open the door. The sound of metal hitting plaster echoed through the tall building, reverberating off the walls again and again as it bounced all the way up to the top and down each individual corridor. It must have echoed at least a hundred times in quick succession.

Was Lyra in this building? If so, where? She could have simply left and carried on as I had intended to. I stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do and reluctant to step foot in the building. The door tried to close itself, knocking at my ankles. A faint breeze drifted in through the door, chilling the back of my neck and carrying with it a strange noise. It sounded like a spattering sound, though made itself heard regularly, like footsteps. I turned my head to hear everything fall silent. The wind stopped, as well as the sound of the steam that had followed me all the way from the ruined restaurant. The world was suddenly devoid of sound, save for that spattering. The noise became louder and louder, sounding like it was almost upon me before it stopped. There was a gurgling, groaning voice that came from ahead of me, around the corner that I had come from. The door banged against my feet, urging me to close it. The gurgling stopped, nothing made an appearance around the corner. The door opened again, slowly, before falling back against my foot with renewed vigor. It was at the same time that I heard a rush if disturbed air. It happened in a split second, my decision to let the door close itself as I was panicked by the noise, something that reminded me of some sort of invisible heavy object flying through the air. The door, relieved, fell shut with a clang. That alone was loud, but was suddenly belittled as something impacted against it, hard. It hit the door with enough force so as to dent its thick metal, sound returning to the world following the deafening grating of metal and then the same ominous gurgle that I had heard earlier. There was another crash, quieter, but followed by another and another. Something hammered on the door, seventeen times I counted as I stood petrified in the hallway. It stopped, finally, a disappointed and agitated moaning coming from outside before the footsteps started up again.

My curiosity got the better of me as I stooped to look out of the distorted keyhole. Nothing lay outside but the same courtyard as before, floor now sprinkled with chips of paint from the door. The footsteps came from the middle of the clearing, though held no visible maker. I breathed out, only now noticing that I had been holding my breath throughout the ordeal. The noise was louder than I intended, and caused the footsteps to stop again. There was a succession of brief steps, before they started again, this time running and picking up both speed and volume as the invisible assailant sprinted at the door. I jumped back just in time to see the dent deepen, the sight accompanied by yet another deafening screech of metal on metal. Another series of moans and groans emanated from behind the door before finally it stopped. I dared not to approach the courtyard, frozen with my hands half-stretched before me in a sort of stunned defensive pose. Instead of a moan, I this time heard a howl. The creature howled and howled, a sound that I would have normally associated with loneliness and pity, though this time only felt relief as the footsteps well and truly faded.

Its howl faded away long after the footsteps, my body remaining in the same place for a long time after both had gone completely. I sat against the wall and stared, eyes empty, towards the opposite side of the corridor. My fears that I was in a place of fiction had come true. I had tried to refuse its existence, tried to find a logical explanation and found nothing. I couldn't explain it and, on top of that, no reason to. I didn't know how to defend myself and had no clue where to find Lyra. I had no idea what to do and no idea where to start doing it.


	7. Transformation

**Transformation**

I awoke to the sight of Lyra's back, her movements having roused me. She was walking as if against some sort of strong wind, struggling to keep back rather than to move on. Her body was arched in a bizarre position that made it difficult for me to stay holding onto her, and so I dropped from her, acknowledgment barely flickering very briefly across her face. She didn't appear fearful, but rather very resigned. It was when I looked around to see the familiar corridor in which we stood. Everything was notably different, other than the structure. While the wallpaper changed along with the rug, the hotel still bore the same layout. We climbed some stairs and found ourselves in the corridor leading to our room, that lay dormant at the very end beside a window.

I remember how we arrived home one night to see the contents of our hotel room strewn all over the corridor outside, with chairs and tables pushed up against the door that lay hanging from one hinge. I remember how I was accused for trashing my own room, somebody apparently having seen me do it in person. I'd apparently shot them a few choice words before barging past them and escaping through the door, leaving it in pieces in my wake. When I was accused, and Lyra told, neither of us believed it. Medical conditions aside, I wasn't nearly strong enough as I'd have liked to be to break a solid wood door to splinters. They insisted, though never pressed charges for reasons I still don't know. All the same, I managed to convince myself that I had somehow done it through an act of my condition and as such fell into what can only be described as self-loathing. I didn't know how, and only assumed that I blanked out the memory of ever doing it. Lyra, on the other hand, lost her memory when I consciously harmed her in a more conventional sort of attack. Once again, this was due to my condition, yet I remained fully aware. I now find it hard with hindsight to see how exactly I would block out the memory of trashing a room yet hang onto the repulsive thought of harming my dearest friend. Regardless, here we were, staring at a considerably more deprived rendition of our old hotel.

The wall at the end of the corridor had fallen in, the lights either lying on the floor in barely reflective pieces or instead hanging limply from the roof by a tangle of thin wires. Paintings that I found myself oddly remembering lay on the floor, leaving lighter spaces of nothing on the walls where the grime had failed to intrude, now making up for lost time as it encroached on the remaining clear rectangles of plaster. Fog drifted into the hall through the crumbling hole, the space beyond it filled with the same white nothingness that my eyes were beginning to come frustratingly accustomed to. We inadvertently came ever closer to the open doorway, the same chair lying in pieces against the closed door opposite our open one. Our feet crunched on broken glass as we rounded the corner, arms tentatively yet unwillingly reaching out to helpfully guide us safely over the pseudo-barricade of discarded furniture that barred the way in. I was the last to enter in complete bewilderment. Despite my movements not being my own, I was startled to see that the room was not our hotel room, but instead the same as the one we had been in before. The window, where I had taken my fatal fall, still remained smashed. There was blood decorating vicious-looking blades of glass that remained clinging to the window frame, droplets of the same blood browning around the white frame. I shuddered inwardly at the memory and tried to cast an eye over to Lyra, instead finding her out of my sight and myself unable to turn. In my head I had no idea of my destination, even as my body brought me to it: a tall mirror that my reflected image struggled to dominate even half of.

The pristine glass was held within a yellowing frame of white wood, painted to look like marble. All but a small fraction of the meager paint had fallen in chips from their efforts to cling to the deprived frame, and instead lay in crunching patterns at random all over the rotting floorboards. It was bizarre, to see something so well-treated and preserved amidst a world of deprivation and ruin. The glass was spotless, completely and utterly. Were it to be a French window, it would no doubt be one that I would walk into without the slightest sign of stopping, and subsequently break either it or myself through my clumsiness.

I was afforded no chance to walk into the glass however, let alone break it. My body came to an unwanted halt right before the glass, my reflection staring right back into my eyes as I did so to it. My body raised its hand in a bizarre motion, twisting its fingers into a strange shape that looked tantalizingly close to that of the Illuminati. The reflection did the same, producing a small loop in its thumb and index finger, the others outstretched in what was ever so similar to the iconic '6', but instead looking more like a 'b'. Inwardly, I tilted my head in curiosity, to find that the reflection did the same. I dismissed it, instead staring at the fingers and wondering what on Earth it could mean. The reflection did the same, even adopting the same bemused expression that I, figuratively speaking, also showed. The reflection's hand-my hand-flew to my mouth in surprise, remaining there as I suddenly felt an intense pain in my head. Like thunder and lightning, there was a delay before the unbearable noise of a high-pitched whine entered my head. The hand at my mouth now turned into two, on which I weakly champed down in an effort to keep from crying out. In only a few moments, the pain and pitch of the sound had increased at least thrice fold, the eyes of my reflection watering as she fell to her knees, clutching at her own head and gasping for breath. The last thing that I saw before I turned away was myself curled on the floor, state of consciousness indiscernible from the crumpled mess of hair, clothes and limbs, before oddly my vision faded to black.

From what I can gather, it was only shortly after when I awoke in a darker version of the room. At first, I thought the lights to be broken, but saw that there were none at all. While earlier the wall closest to me was on my right, it was now on my left, with everything having appeared to have slipped over to the opposite side of the room. Upon standing, I was re-introduced to the sight of the mirror, considerably grimier and unkempt in appearance. My sight fixed itself through the all-too-thick lenses of my glasses and adjusted the reflection in the mirror until it was in focus. To put it simply, my reflection looked rather worse for wear. Though still wearing my clothes, hair and glasses, the person underneath appeared truly vicious. Blood near enough dripping from her hands was enough of a hint that something was amiss. I instinctively checked my own hands, and saw nothing but pale skin. On looking up, I saw a cruel grin spread across my reflection's lips before she literally flickered out of sight, appearing off and on a hundred times within one second before disappearing completely. In her welcome absence, I found myself able to relax and observe. I closed my eyes, and opened them once more to the sight of the mirror, though this time finding myself without a reflection completely. Instead, within the mirror, I saw an unclear image of red dominating an entire wall, with a small white blob occupying the center of it all.

I looked down to the floor in search of anything else, and saw the same red pooling around my feet. I lifted them both at the same time with a gasp, clumsily hopping to one side to get out of the viscous blood that was beginning to cling to my shoes. I turned to one side, following the trail of blood with my eyes and threw my hands up once more to my mouth, this time allowing a thoroughly shocked whimper escape from my throat. A tentative step forwards, and another.

I stepped in the blood, not caring and barely even noticing. I didn't care. Before me, at the end of and above the trail of blood, resided the lifeless body of Lyra, bled out through a series of wounds inflicted by the same kitchen knives which pinned her to the wall. She lay limp, fresh blood still streaming from her nose and mouth in a free trickle, gurgling in her throat despite no attempt to speak. She was dead, drained of all but a fraction of her blood by the same kitchen knives I used to first make her dinner.

Lyra was dead.


	8. Aberration

**Aberration**

I made my backwards descent through the crumbling ruin of the building, noting on my way that everything appeared to have slid to one side of the room. A dresser which was once on my left was now on my right, the stairs having jumped up and over the hall to now fall on the opposite side. I placed the wrong hand on the wrong side of the banister, the wrong fingers trailing over the blackened yet ornate support. At the bottom of the stairs, I put down the wrong foot and set off in the wrong direction to the door. The wrong hand once again reached out to grasp the wrong handle of the double doors, opening it outwards as I stepped out into the familiar fog. The wrong door closed behind me, exposing me to the wind which blew everything in the wrong direction. Everything was wrong.

The road, naturally, curved off in the other direction to which I remembered. My mind slowly grew used to the mirrored world as I became more confident in my stride. Everything appeared lighter than earlier: my footsteps made no sound, the noises stolen by the silence that fell heavy on my ears. The wind, though it blew, made no sound and never allowed me to feel it, signifying its presence only in other objects. The occasional flier would drift nonchalantly across my path, passing and disappearing in complete silence. I made no attempt to speak, though my curiosity urged me to at least try. My purpose was eventually lost in the grid of identical streets. It was an environment not too far detached from a desert; the sheet-white sky beaming down on nothing but a bleak wasteland. There was no heat to be relished and yet no lack of it to mourn. I concluded that I was in some sort of limbo.

I passed an empty court of some kind, bordered on most sides by a degraded chain-link fence. In the middle of the court, lying on a faded marking of some game long concluded, resided a pile of rags. Their slight movement is what caught my eye as their edges fluttered about, held down by a tall pole which cut right down their far edge. As I looked, one of the rags broke free and drifted into the air, flitting about haphazardly in the non-existent wind before finding itself spread flat against the wall of one of many tall apartment blocks. It clung there for a few seconds, edges still reaching for freedom even as it was peeled from the sheer face and fell back down once more, oddly sliding straight back down the pole and onto its pile of kindred spirits. My feet drifted silently on past the court, dismissing the bizarre scene which had occurred so briefly that I had no need to stop to see its conclusion.

I rounded corner after corner, imperceptible wind still urging me on with its impossible presence. My wandering brought me through darkened alleys, no more steam from decayed restaurants gracing my path and no unseen threat to jolt animation into my limbs. I walked for hours with no real destination and no real plan of action. I had no real thoughts and very little in the way of memory. Since I had awoken to the darkened mirror and made my way from the room, I had known only that everything felt bizarre. I knew not why I thought that it felt strange to use my left hand so easily, nor why my bracelets felt so strange as they sat on my right hand. It's not like it mattered in the short-term, since I never thought to even question it, only become puzzled by it.

The final turn brought me to a standstill. Before me I saw myself, staring back at myself and copying my own actions. She wore her bracelets on her left hand, and reached out her right as I brought up my left to touch the wall in the road. A frown pushed out her lips and narrowed her eyes, a curious tilt of her head bringing the right side of her hair falling across her face. I saw her charm in her hair, a barely noticeable density within the black which made perfect sense. Mine was of course on my left, which made no sense at all. She turned to her left and I to my right, the fingers of her right hand trailing adjacent to those of my left. We both stepped up into the building we had left hours ago, stepping back into the crumbling motel and losing sight of each other. I looked to my left and no longer saw myself, my hand falling loosely to my side as a breeze graced the skin that clothed it. The sensation of wind was so familiar yet so surprising in a world where I had felt nothing for the past day. I jumped, and turned to see everything as it was before my passage.

I uneasily rubbed the tingling spot on my arm, looking about myself to see the source of the breeze, yet found none. I turned back to the stairs and hesitantly descended back into the street, myself standing by my side and doing the same in her road. My eyes drifted across the road, passing the curb opposite me and resting on my own eyes, dark and puzzled as they stared into mine. She faltered, eyes falling to my feet before looking back up again, eyes flashing and a smile spreading across her lips. She turned away from me and ran across the road, hood bouncing as she forced herself down onto the curb and closed her hands on something. I frowned, hesitantly and silently following her with fingers still smoothing their way across the cold glass.

She stood up then, straightening her back before arching it backwards and falling to the floor. She lay there, hands on the cold tarmac and knees curled sideways in front of her, flat on the floor. She tried her best to hold herself up, occasionally flinching and trying to shuffle backwards with a frightful glare in her eyes. The same behavior carried on for some time, her eyes growing wider and her lips parting in a silent protest before closing again, smothered by whatever she regarded with such fear. It took some time, but eventually she stood. Her eyes flickered to a close and her fingers tightened into fists before relaxing again. Her eyes opened and she reached out. She took something in her hand and walked towards me. I looked down to see my own hand reaching out in the same motion, though feeling nothing. I looked at myself, not sharing her fierce expression as her hands worked to manipulate what it was that she held.

Her two hands rose in front of her, and a smile twisted her lips. She stretched out her arms and pushed them out straight towards me. It was then that the glass cracked. It was small at first, barely tainting the pristine wall. Soon, however, the crack grew and grew. My reflection smiled at me, inclining her head politely before turning and disappearing into an alley which lay identically to my side. My concentration taken up by the cracking glass, I barely noticed her leave. The crack spread right out to every edge of the glass, splintering and silently groaning before falling silent for a brief second and then exploding outwards in a shower of shards. Spectra shone out in every other direction with a smash which was almost ear-splitting. My ears were returned to the world of sound, the wind finally teasing my hair along my cheeks and sensations of pain returning to the tiny scrapes inflicted by the cascading glass. The center of the crack made way for something more opaque, something which flew right at me and knocked me senseless. I fell under its weight as it carried on, landing barely before me. I sat up, dazed, and turned to see the alien object which had invaded my world. My plan was foiled as my head was stopped mid-turn and forced to the ground. I fell onto my back, middle twisted as it still remained on its front, staring up in fear at Lyra's twisted face. She bared her teeth in an angered snarl which was accompanied by her fingers around my neck. I struggled under her weight, only succeeding in angering her further as she pinned me to the floor with her weight and continued to squeeze the life out of me. My vision began to fade as my hands struggled about for a means of esacpe. They found only a large shard of sharp glass, lifting it and wielding it as it fell down on Lyra's arm. The clear glass pierced its way through her skin, her blood spilling out to spray over the transparent weapon.

Lyra cried out in pain and fell to one side, clutching her drenched arm in agony. I stood, eyes wide in comprehension of what I had done. I could find no words to express myself, and instead reached forwards in a blind stupor. She saw my hands and jumped back in an instant, expression truly fearful as she span on her unsteady heels and fled from me without another word.


	9. Mistranslation

**Mistransalation**

Lyra was far faster than me.

I had, using the best of my efforts, kept up with her for a rather long period of time. Through dingy alleyways and over barren streets, jittering our way across the town by way of a network of empty passageways. Lyra could have stopped for all she wanted and taken in the scenery as she waited for me to catch up, but she continued to run. I never questioned that I never lost sight of her; always finding her turning the corner before me, be it near or far. I would always see the heel of her shoe or her leg retreating out of sight just as I rounded the edge of a building. The signs urged me on, through my bleary eyes and complaining knees. My breath steamed in the air before me as I panted my way after my fugitive, refusing to give in and lose her yet another time.

Eventually, my bearing on both time and position evaporated. I had no clue as to whether or not Lyra knew her whereabouts, but I was thoroughly lost. Needless to say I had felt lost since I had arrived there, though now I truly had no idea which way was which. We passed through what appeared to be a main road, the sound of my own feet slapping unceremoniously on the tarmac being the only to grace the air. Then the road was gone, and an echo I had grown accustomed to came back to me, the same sound of my feet now bouncing all around my ears. Lyra's feet rounded yet another corner, and I followed.

The corner brought me to a long, long alley which stretched out until everything at its end became far too packed to have any of its qualities discerned. The very fact that I could see the opening startled me, and brought to my attention the lack of Lyra. Panicked, I began to run once more, jolting my weary legs into motion while I ached my way down the alley. The tall buildings to either side of me offered no windows to glean any understanding of my direction. I knew that I was closed into only one path, though where it was taking me I knew not. As I progressed in a flagging jog, the end of the passage became clearer. Red bricks by my side turned into solid grey, and then to a faded green, back into solid grey and flickering between the two as I passed the backs of individual buildings. At one point I was offered a wire fence which opened up into a yard of some description, providing me with nothing but a glimpse of more grey before I panted by, taking little heed of it.

The end grew closer with each of my slapping footfalls, dismissing my speculation on whether or not it was indeed a nightmarish extending corridor. As I neared my destination, I came to see how large the black building which stood before me was. When I came close enough to distinguish more detail, I briefly noted that the windows had no frames. There was no sign to denote what the building was, or what purpose it had ever served. Its blackened skeleton spoke of some untold fire which had raged outwards from within, leaving the very tops of the enduring walls leaning almost comically in towards the center. I broke out into the opening which held the factory-looking building, desserted cars and boxes littering the yard. I slowed to a welcome walk, stopping hesitantly before the large empty double doorway. I expected to see a sign, any sign, of Lyra. Staring into the darkness provided by the crumbling roof which slumped between the remaining walls, I was offered nothing but a foreboding whistle of a gentle breeze through some crumbled hole in the structure.

My first steps into the building were tentative at best. I dared not make so much as a thought of noise, holding my breath and treading as carefully as possible around the scattering of broken glass and wood which clothed the concrete floor. As much as I tried, I couldn't help but cause the occasional crunch or crackle underfoot, the sound seeming to fly out and reverberate around my ears, only worsening when I passed into a room whose floor consisted of tiny fragments of glass. My breath hitched as I winced with the noise, stopping in my tracks yet finding the noise continuing: though for only a second, I heard what seemed like the echo of my own movements.

Lyra saw the error in her prolonged movements and stood still like a rabbit in headlights when I turned to see her in the doorway. She hesitated as I stepped slowly towards her, glancing to either side of me and taking a step backwards, arms raised towards me. Her eyes, however, became progressively more sinister as I reached out a hand in a gesture of peace. Lyra's hand balled into a fist by her side, biting down on her lip and in the same movement lifting her hand and slapping it down onto mine. My arm fell uselessly down to my side, hand stinging in the wake of her hostility. It was then that she made a move towards me, appearing almost to blend into her dark surroundings with her snarling expression and promise of ferocity in her eyes. We changed roles, and I began to take the steps backwards. I raised my open-palmed hands in the same gesture, not knowing what else to do. It was completely beyond me to ever consider doing harm to Lyra, at least consciously so. I knew not what had changed in her, or why she saw fit to threaten me like that, but knew almost certainly that she would do me no real harm.

It was with that optimism that I stepped forwards to her, smile spreading across my lips as I reached my arms to try and encompass her shoulders. I made contact with her, or so I thought, as an intense pain suddenly flared up in my abdomen. My mouth flew open, involuntary gurgle escaping from me as the pain receded briefly, only to reappear higher up in my chest with a slight flicker of Lyra's arm and a decisive set of her jaw. A sickeningly wet, metallic sound emanated from my chest as her arm fell to her side once more. My vision fell blurry as I found myself to do anything but experience an unbearable pain I had never felt before. My hands went to my chest and stomach before falling limply in the air, covered in blood as the world span and my body fell down to Earth faster than my arms. They, too, slumped lifelessly by my side, fingers tensing and relaxing as I slowly found it increasingly difficult to feel my extremeties.

Though I made no move to make them, shameless groans escaped my throat as I made attempts to writhe on the floor, managing only to curl up painfully in a growing stain of my own blood on the floor. I shivered, having been overcome by what felt like an intense heat and a paralyzing cold, body convulsing against my will while I made every attempt to scrabble at invisible lifelines in the dark. It took all of my effort to roll onto my back, succeeding in nothing but furthering my own pain and finding myself so lacking in energy that I couldn't so much as groan my discomfort anymore.

It wasn't the first time that I had died during our journey to the town. However, something about this felt more certain. It felt more final, more absolute. As I lay there, somehow bleeding to death at the hands of the person I trusted with my life, I felt my energy slip from me in a way which seemed utterly different to anything I had experienced before.

My vision faded to nothing; darkness replaced the image of perhaps the only person I had ever truly cared for, the same person who now stood victoriously snarling down at me.


End file.
